The Scientist
by imogensrocket
Summary: Her head was always in the clouds, and he was stuck on Earth, waiting for her to come down.
1. one

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi**

* * *

**Author's Note: **I have no business making another story – especially since I haven't updated Magnetic in forever – but I've been listening to Fly Away and this plot bunny struck. It's not going to be too long, but I'm not sure how many chapters, but I hope you like it all the same. Oh and even though it's a Jimogen story, it's mainly told from Jake's perspective. The more you know.

* * *

_Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you are. I had to find you, tell you I set you apart. _

_-The Scientist, Coldplay_

The day they had official met, it had been raining. A perfect event for the ending of a bad day in her opinion, as she marched, hunched over in some pathetic attempt of shelter from the rain.

She had had a miserable day, and all she wanted was a nice warm tea before she made her way home.

So much had gone wrong in the weeks following the play. Eli texting her or calling her, wanting to meet up with her to make up for what he did to her. As if dinner and a movie could resolve what he'd done to her.

He had used her, and now he wasn't giving her the decency of moving on. To let her move past, and forget her stupid mistake and her misplaced love.

She scoffed. Love. What did she know about love anyways?

But she couldn't deny she had wanted to love Eli. That she wanted him in a way she'd never wanted anyone before. She wanted the boy whose stories had touched her, and who was supposed to be the biggest romantic around.

But he wasn't that.

He was just another disappointment in her growing list.

Sighing, she stepped under the purple awning above the entrance, shook off a bit, and opened the door.

She wasn't surprised that it was crowded. Between the rain canceling practices, and the little coffee shop being a school hot spot, the Dot had become a sanctuary to all from the rain that brisk, November afternoon.

As she waited in line she tilted her head to look out the window. She was getting sick of the rain. For one, it had rained all this week and matched her mood impeccably. Secondly, she wanted it to snow.

She wanted her city to be painted in a bed of white, and she wanted to lie in the freshly fallen snow and forget about everything and just be a kid again.

Someone tapped on her shoulder, pulling her from her stupor. She blinked, realizing she'd zoned out for so long that it was her turn at the counter. Had she been moving? But her spot in line told her she had automatically moved forward, except when it mattered.

An accurate thing she did, she noted glumly.

Ordering her tea, she moved to the side so the boy who had tapped her could order, and she turned to look at him.

He was handsome, to say the least. He had coppery hair the spiked, though it looked like it naturally grew that way. He was tall, and had a nice profile. He turned to her, and she blushed and turned away when she realized who it was.

The boy was none other than Jake Martin, Clare Edwards' boyfriend.

She'd never met him, but of course they knew each other. She knew he probably had no nice thoughts about her, even though she wasn't any better.

She could barely tolerate the arrogant boy, and his smirk wasn't helping any.

Unable to stand it any longer she turned back to him. "What?" she snapped, her voice sharp like a blade, and she felt a moment of triumph when it stunned him and wiped the smirk off his face.

His eyes widened, and then narrowed into some form of recognition.

"Imogen," he said.

She rolled her eyes. His voice held no terseness, no anger, just recognition.

"Yeah," she confirmed tiredly.

He looked at her, taking her in, and she felt uncomfortable by it and wished the workers would hurry up and give her her tea already.

"Nice cat ears," he said, and turned away.

She blinked. She was used to hearing those three words when she wore her headband, but she didn't know if his words were the usual sarcasm, or just something to say.

Before she had a chance to answer, her tea was being handed to her, and taking it into her hand, she said, "Have a nice day, Jake Martin."

He looked up, following her with his eyes as she left the Dot and back out into the pouring rain. Realizing she was going to walk home, the part in him, a stupid part he figured, told him to offer her a ride. He didn't know why. He sure as hell didn't owe her anything after all the shit her and Eli Goldsworthy had pulled, but the nagging feeling remained. So grabbing his coffee out of the baristas hand, he went after her.

"Hey," he called to her, thinking she'd slow, but she didn't. He sighed, "Imogen!"

She paused, looking to her right, and then turned around, the confusion evident on her face, even in their distance.

"Do you want a ride?"

"What?"

"A ride home," he said, his patience wearing thin, even if the response was understandable.

She ponded for a moment, and then nodded, walking back to him.

She climbed into the cab of his truck, careful not to spill her tea, and once she was settled she turned to him. "Thanks," she muttered.

"Uh, don't mention it," he said, but hoped she didn't. He knew if Clare ever found out, she'd probably be mad as a hornets nest.

She gave him directions to her house, and they sat there in the cab, the radio on to make the silence less awkward, but both felt like it was failing at its job.

She played with her fingers as she stared out the window at the passing, blurring homes of the street.

"Why did you offer me a ride?" she questioned him during the bridge of some song he didn't know, even though he tapped his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel.

He turned to her and shrugged. "Does it matter?"

She sighed, "Kind of."

His brow furrowed at that. "Why?"

"Well considering everything, I'm probably not your favorite person in the world."

"You give yourself far too much credit if you think you're worthy of me hating you," he said truthfully. Though he knew with Clare, it'd be another story.

"I never said anything about hating me," she pointed out, tracing her finger across the worn door handle. "I said I'm probably not your favorite person."

He shrugged. "You're not," he said honestly, "but I'm not just going to let you walk home in the rain."

"You don't even know me," she pointed out.

He sighed, "Do you always take nice gestures with such skepticism, or am I the only one who gets this lucky?"

She shrugged, and turned back to look out the window.

He groaned. "Fine, I didn't because I wanted to."

"I don't remember questioning your free will," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Well that's the only answer I have for you. Take it or leave it."

They sat in the silence for a few more beats and he heard her phone go off and her sigh. It sounded like a tired, defeated sigh. One he'd never expect to hear from her. He wasn't going to comment on it. It wasn't any of his business, and she was sure she wouldn't appreciate it, but after a few more chimes he finally decided to comment.

"Someone's popular," he joked.

She turned, a glare already set on her face. "Yeah," she said tersely, "lucky me."

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's not like things can get any worse, so yeah, they're fine."

Worse? And then he realized she meant Eli.

He looked over at her, and for the first time, he drank her in. At first, a cliché came into his mind. She wasn't like any other girl he'd ever met before. But there was a truth in the statement. She wore her dark hair in two odd pigtail-like buns, and placed atop of her head was a pair of cat ears. Her uniform had been done up with black lace around the skirt, a pair of black tights with red polka dots and a pair of combat boots. She was different in not only her appearance, but with her personality.

She'd use everyone's full name, she didn't seem to be embarrassed by the things everyone else seemed to, and she was completely at ease with who she was.

And yet Eli Goldsworthy, a short idiot of a boy who wore more eyeliner and nail polish than she did, had broken her. He thought it was sad, that someone like her could be tarnished by something so unworthy.

He gave her a smile, and as they neared her house, he said in a calm, quiet voice, "He's not worth any heartache."

At his words, she jolted and looked at him, seeing the seriousness in his face. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, waiting for the blow, and when it didn't come, her heart pounded.

_No! _She chastised herself. _You will not fall for another one again. Let Clare Edwards be the love sick fool. You're better than that. Don't let some guy manipulate you by a few kind words and a sweet smile._

But even at her thoughts, she knew he was being serious, and expected nothing in return from his kind gesture.

She nodded, and stepping out of the cab with a quiet thank you, she went inside.

* * *

He was impossible to avoid after he'd given her a ride home.

Not even when she was being Eli's yes man had she seen the gangly boy so much.

She'd see him walking to math, or he'd pass her locker, or they'd be in line together in the cafeteria.

Everywhere she turned he'd always seem to be a part of the crowd. They'd begun talking, though it was mostly small talk. Sometimes they'd walk to class together in a mutual silence.

A bridge had formed between them since his ride, and she was unsure if she liked it yet.

Apart of her enjoyed his presence. It was predictable, and always there. But another part of her hated it.

What kind of idiot fell for the same girl's (ex) boyfriend twice?

Though she knew things weren't going well with Clare and Jake. She didn't have to have him tell her that at all. She'd seen them fighting, seen their distance, and yet, they stayed, and she didn't understand why.

Jake was a guy of few words, and sometimes it grew bothersome if they were sitting outside together at lunch and she wanted to talk. But she wasn't so open either.

She knew Clare wanted a guy like Eli. Someone wordy, who would spew something nice, and keep the conversation going; she couldn't sit there in silence like Jake wanted to.

Silence was scary. It could mean so many things, and the auburn haired girl couldn't stand the uncertainty of his silence.

But Imogen could.

She'd sit there with him, reading, drawing, and eating. Anything really, and he'd be silent, lost in his sea of thoughts.

She'd sometimes say things, and sometimes he'd break the silence. But for the most part, she enjoyed her silence. There wasn't any pressure to keep small talk, or be something. She could just be her with him, and she liked that feeling.

* * *

**Author's Note: **And so their adventure begins. I hope you guys like this first chapter. Leave a review, favorite, follow, anything is appreciated by me. Next chapter will be up soon.


	2. two

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi**

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_Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions. Oh let's go back to the start; running in circles, coming in tails, heads on a science apart. _

_-The Scientist, Coldplay_

It had been a sunny summer day when she'd first kissed him.

She had been over his house, and he'd been patching a roof with his dad, and she'd watched him nervously, but after a while, she'd calmed, realizing he knew what he was doing.

They had sat in his garage. Her sitting atop of her workbench that had become her unofficial seat here, and he'd been sanding down some wood. She was reading a book, and put it down.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked.

"No," he said, already too accustomed to her improv game of twenty questions.

"Have you ever wanted to be?"

The no was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say it. Did he? He'd never really thought of it. He wanted to love Clare. And he had, but not in a romantic way. He shrugged. "I wouldn't be opposed to it."

"Hmm," was all she responded, and he looked at her.

"Why? Are you in love?"

She rolled her eyes. "No."

"Have you?" he asked, mocking her questions.

"I wanted to be," she admitted sadly, her hand tracing across the workbench. "But no, I haven't yet."

He nodded, and went back to sanding.

She hopped down off the bench and walked over to the mini fridge and grabbed a water, holding one up in his direction as a silent off, which he accepted. He moved over to her, leaning against the work bench.

"So what's with the sudden interest in love, Moreno?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and gave her a smirk.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said, smacking him on the shoulder playfully. "Well the thought does often come up when you read a Nicholas Sparks book." She held up the book and he rolled his eyes.

"Did Clare recommend that to you?"

"As a matter of fact she did," she said, setting the book beside her.

In the past few months, Imogen had woven her way into his world. She'd been over the Martin-Edwards house so much, that she and Clare had made amends and could at this point be reasonably called friends. There was always a place setting for her at the table when she was over, and Helen never even asked her to stay, it was a requirement.

It was the first time in his life where his father actually knew the names of one of his friends; even though he was sure Glenn suspected that they were something more than that.

He snorted. "Another hopeless romantic is born," he teased, earning another smack from him.

He playfully shoved her, and suddenly they were in a shove war, which escalated to him stepping in between her legs and tickling her. At her cries of surrender, and when she was in danger of falling off the bench, he'd stopped. She was breathless and red faced, and he wore a grin. And then their eyes caught, and everything was eerily quiet, and then she was leaning forward.

He barely registered the kiss until his hands were tangling into her hair and she was tugging him closer. Their kiss was long, heated, and his hands roamed along her curves, while hers stayed balled at the collars of his plaid shirt. When they broke for air, neither said anything. The tension was thick between them and suddenly she shoved him aside, got off the bench and began to pace.

"Oh my god," she murmured in disbelief, and then turned to him and repeated the phrase louder with a hint of disgust.

"Imogen," he said, making a grab for her which she evaded.

"This didn't happen," she said sharply, and not bothering to collect her book, she left, leaving him dumbfounded.

* * *

She was avoiding him. And what was insulting, she had continued to keep in touch with Clare.

He was so beyond pissed, he didn't even think his anger was logical anymore, but he didn't care.

He brought her into his life, and one screw up and she ran.

Though he hated thinking that that kiss was a screw up; it didn't feel like a mistake. But obviously she felt that way with him.

He just wanted her back in his life. He wanted her to sit with him in her spot as he worked. He wanted her to pelt him with random questions, and to text him, and to talk to him.

Her absence left a big gaping hole that even his dad had noticed her gone.

"Did you two break up?"

He gritted his teeth, "We weren't together," he said.

His dad nodded, thought Jake knew he didn't believe him. He gritted his teeth. Typical Glenn, he acted like he knew everything about his son, when really, he ignored the things that would help him actually know him at all.

His comments, opinions, anything of any real value, had always been brushed aside. He had a girlfriend? Break up with her, they were moving to Toronto. Get another girlfriend? Too bad, I'm marrying her mother, even though I never asked you if you wanted her or her daughter to be a part of your life.

It was always him giving, and his dad taking. So often he'd been the parent, and his dad had been the kid. He blamed his mother's absence for that.

After her death, Glenn didn't know how to deal with it, and Jake had been so young, that it came at him in snippets. He'd remembered looking at his dad in front of an old church as people filed in, waiting for his dad to say something. Anything at all that might help him understand, or maybe feel less sad, but Glenn had stayed in a stony silence, and led him up the church steps.

He'd remembered his dead talking them up to the cabin, even though he'd had school, and them being in the cabin without his mother in silence.

There was always silence. Why share the pain when you can bottle it up and move on? Why comfort? They'll learn to stand on their own better by themselves.

He didn't hate his dad. It was obvious Jake would do anything to make him happy, but sometimes, he wanted that in return from his dad. He wanted what he had to say to matter and taken seriously. But it never was. Not once in seventeen years had Jake's words mattered to Glenn, so he'd learned not to use them.

"Did you two get into a fight?" Glenn asked, hammering a piece of wood into another.

"I guess," Jake said, unsure of what this was between him and Imogen could be considered a fight.

"Give it time, Son," his dad said, "it always gets better in time."

* * *

Jake didn't give it time.

He gave her another few days, and then he drove to her house. When Louis Moreno answered the door he was delighted to see him.

"Jake," he said, opening the door wider to let him inside, attempting to hold Volta back, but failed. The dog leaped and panted and attempted to lick Jake's face and he petted the dog. After a quick apology, Louis went to go find Imogen for him.

Jake nodded at the man as he wandered into the kitchen and he waited in the foyer surrounded by the pictures of Imogen, her dad, and Volta. He absentmindedly petted the dog, starring at a picture of Imogen with braids making a snowman, when her voice broke him from his daze.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him in a hushed sharp whisper.

His brow furrowed. "Why have you been avoiding me?" He asked in return.

She crossed her arms across her chest. "I haven't."

"Bullshit," Jake spat at her.

She grabbed him by the arm and dragged her outside.

"You have no right coming to my house like this," she said once they were out of earshot from her dad.

"And you have no right avoiding me because we kissed, so it's only fair."

She rolled her eyes.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" He asked her again, his voice harsher this time and she flinched.

"I didn't have anything to say to you."

"It's never stopped you before."

"Well it was different this time."

"How?" he asked.

"It's stupid."

"Try me," he said, feeling annoyed by the suspense of his answer.

She looked at him, and then their lips were together in a heated kiss, though it was shorter than before, and before she had a chance to take off, he grabbed her wrist gently. She tugged at it, but his grip was unbreakable.

"Why?"

"Because I like you, okay?" she snapped. "Are you satisfied? And it's stupid because you don't like me that way, and –"

She didn't have a chance to finish her sentence before he was kissing her again.

"You talked too much," he murmured when they broke for air, his nose against her forehead.

She lead him inside, and he'd stayed for supper that night, and after a few more kisses he'd gone home, feeling more full than he had in a long time. And he knew the fullness had nothing to do with food, but with her sweet lips, her demanding need when her lips touched his, the way she fought him. He loved it all. And maybe, just maybe, he loved her too.


	3. three

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi**

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_Nobody said it was easy__, __it's such a shame for us to part__. __Nobody said it was easy__, __no one ever said it would be this hard__. __Oh, take me back to the start__  
__-The Scientist, Cold Play_

The drive was long and the truck's ac was undependable. The summer sun was unforgiving, and sweat was pooling off their skin and making them both stick to the leather seats.

He should have planned their romantic getaway better.

Okay, it wasn't a romantic getaway, considering he didn't have any direct plans to do anything. There was protection in case things got heated, but he hadn't brought her here for that.

He wanted to show her the one place he'd loved so much. The one place where he still felt at home and her presence, even after all these years: his mother's cabin.

He'd taken a few girls here along the years, but this time it was different. It meant something to him. _She _meant something to him.

He snuck a glance over at her as he drove down the bumpy dirt road. She was in shorts, and had discarded her sweatshirt and was sitting in an oversized t-shirt.

She always wore layers, and it drove him crazy.

He wasn't going to lie that there were days when she'd worn fewer layers, shorter skirts, former fitting tops, he'd imagine removing them. But he did that regardless.

How many dreams had he had solely about her?

He almost snorted.

No plans indeed.

He knew she hadn't done much. She never told him, but she'd skid around things, and he didn't want to pressure her, or make her feel like she had to do something she just didn't want to do.

No matter how badly the wait was killing him.

He pulled into the driveway and they climbed out and took their bags inside.

There was a musty scent, and the curtains were pulled shut, but even in the dust covered cabin he could still picture his mother bustling around, putting away the food, dusting things off, telling him to get his swimsuit on and to go swim.

If he thought back hard enough, he swore he could smell the scent of her perfume, but it was a distant, foggy memory. It had been crumpled up over time, and even now, the loss of that one concrete memory killed him.

When he first realized he wasn't as sure as he once was he'd cried. He cried harder than he did throughout losing her, her funeral, burying her. The blurs in her scent, her laugh, her voice as she'd callout his name, they had been the ones that had broken him hard.

"Where should this go?" Imogen asked him, and he blinked.

He was still standing in the doorway holding his bag, but everything was different. The curtains had been opened, and light was filtering in from the dusty windows, and she was in the kitchen putting stuff away.

The scene hit him, and for a second he thought he had lost the ability to breath.

"Jake?" she asked, her voice slightly panicked.

"Put it wherever," he said, and took his bag into the back bedroom where he'd sleep.

* * *

She stood there in the opening between the living room and kitchen, watching as he disappeared down the hallway. She had the sinking feeling in her gut that she'd gotten lately with him.

She knew something was wrong, but getting Jake to talk, it was a struggle. One that had worn her down, considering how never ending it felt.

She hated when he got like this. When his quietness became thick, and she'd try to find her way through, but she never quite found where she needed to be. Timing was everything. Or so she thought.

She wanted to say that she knew what would get him to open up with her, but she couldn't.

When they were having fun, and being with each other without a care in the world, everything was great. They'd talk, they'd lay together in silence, and they'd mess with each other. But every once in a while something would strike a nerve, and she'd turn and instead of seeing him, there would be this wall dividing them. She'd beat against it. She'd start conversations that would end with him speaking in monosyllables and unenthusiastic tones until the weight of the conversation was too heavy for her and she'd let it fall. She'd tried different things to get to him, but once that wall was up, she remained stuck and hurt on the other side.

There had been times on the other side of the wall where she'd wanted to hate him. She'd sit there, resting against it, wondering if he even cared as she sat outside obsessing. If she wanted them to last – not forever, but long enough where if they'd ended it wouldn't end with them being like this.

When she thought of Jake Martin in the future, she wanted to remember their fun. And she knew they had more than enough to spare. She knew she'd remember these moments outside his wall, and her waiting for a way to enter. Or to even stop repairing the places she'd nicked.

Looking down at the bread she'd been holding, she tossed it onto the counter and marched down the hallway, finding him in a small room with a bed shoved next to the window and a beaten dresser.

"Hey," she said from the doorway.

He didn't respond, too engrossed with unpacking. Or so he wanted her to believe.

"I'm going for a swim," she said, turning from the door. "Don't bother joining me," she said as an afterthought, and she went to go change.

* * *

Her words stung him. He didn't know where they'd come from, but she never said things she didn't mean.

He turned to the door, expecting to see her standing there with a steely glare, ready to start World War III, but wasn't surprised when she was nowhere in sight.

Sighing, he sat down on his bed, wrinkling his freshly unpacked clothes in the process. He ran his hands down his face with a sigh.

He knew _exactly _where her heated remark had come from. He was shoving her away because the memory and her, it was becoming too much for him. He was shutting down on her, and he had no way to express to her everything he was feeling. He'd never had to before.

Slapping a hand on the bed, he stood up and decided he was going to go for a swim.

* * *

It was almost sunset, and she'd gotten down to the lake just in time to see the sky set fire behind the mountains in the far distance. It was breathtaking, and she wished she had her camera to keep the memory forever. Tilting her head towards the sky, she discarded the kaftan and her glasses on the shore, kicked off her shoes, and took off into a sprint down the dock, cannonballing right into the lake.

She let herself skin, the bubbles forming a cocoon around her. The water was dark and murky, but she didn't care. She was at peace with her dark little bubble world here. She kicked her legs and moved her arms to stay under until it felt like her head was going to explode from the pressure, and releasing the hoarded air inside her lungs; she let the bubbles float up to the surface and followed them. She gasped for air when she broke through the surface. Coughing and sputtering, she leaned back on her back and floated, catching her breath, and trying to slow her heartbeat.

Closing her eyes, she floated, unaware of anyone else until a splash awoke her from her daydream.

She let the water cover her, and tried to find the person who had disrupted her peace, realizing that they hadn't broken the surface yet, and when she did, she felt a fury ignite in her.

"I thought I told you not to join me," she said hollowly.

"I didn't realize you owned the lake," he said, bobbing up and down in the water.

There was a silence that fell between them, and she'd be damned if she broke it. She was tired of always having to be the one to talk and to break this infinite quiet between them. She was sick of having to fight and work and push when it felt like he did nothing. She was done with her caring too much and him not caring enough.

If he wanted her at all, it was his turn to fight, to work, to cry. To do all the things she had to do to attempt to save them without him.

Seconds ticked by, and she wasn't sure if they had formed minutes or hours by the time he spoke.

"You acted like my mother," he said.

She blinked once, and then again. She was so lost in the statement, and it angered her. She didn't want to solve his riddles! Not when she was so tired and beaten by his silence. She just wanted to understand, to know him better without some stupid game.

When he realized she wasn't moved by his statement, he elaborated. "We'd come here a lot during the summer," he said. "And she would be the one to open the curtains, put things away, get us all set up so my dad and I could enjoy ourselves. You just reminded me of her."

Imogen nodded, trying to be touched, but she desperately wanted to see where this would go. This little nugget of hope, that could make the wall crumble.

But she was greeted by his silence, and she sighed.

"I don't know what you want me to say to that," she admitted, a sharp edge to her voice he hadn't expected. "Am I supposed to be sorry? Happy? Indifferent?"

She tugged at her hair. "I don't know what you're feeling, Jake! I'm tired, and I'm sick of this. I just wanted to swim alone."

"No you didn't," he said with a sureness that she hated. He knew her so well, yet she knew him so distantly.

She hated it.

It wasn't fair of him, and she had the feeling of wanting to hate him.

She should logically hate him, but she couldn't. She loved him. She didn't know when she began to love him, it was long before their kiss, but she had loved him and couldn't stop. He was her best friend. He knew her in ways she never let anyone see herself as. He knew her flaws, her fears, her moods, her truths, her lies. He knew her every way she could come, and yet she stood their knowing things about him, but things weren't enough.

Sure, she knew him. There were things she tried to understand, and things she accepted, and things she pardoned, and knew his flaws. But him as a whole being? As just Jake Martin, not split in sections? Fat chance.

Gritting her teeth she said, "What gives you the right to decide what I do and don't want? I didn't want to be with you!"

She could see the comment hurt him, and she wanted to get a rise out of him. Anything was better than this distance and this passiveness he held. She wanted him to scream at her. To fight with her until they were both blue in the face. She wanted him to feel something, anything for her that she could see.

She was tired of the quiet, and the loneliness.

But he was quiet, and she was angry.

She swam over and climbed onto the dock and looked down at him. "If I ever grow to hate you," she said softly, "you'll have no one to blame but yourself. I tried to stop it, and I've waited, and tried to understand, but I can't anymore. You don't care about me, and don't even argue that you do, because if this is what you call caring, then you're messed up.

"Enjoy your swim, Jake Martin."

* * *

Something inside him snapped at those words, and before he knew it he was on the dock walking towards her.

"What do you want from me, Imogen?" he shouted at her, causing her back to tense.

She spun around. "You know exactly what I want from you, and it doesn't matter. There is always going to be you, and I'm always going to be left out. I can't take it anymore, and I'm tired, and I'm hurt, and either you care about me enough to try or it ends. I'm tired of waiting around."

"That's unfair," he snapped.

"Unfair?" she said. "Unfair?"

She stabbed her finger into his chest so hard he winced, taking a step back from her. "You know what's unfair? You being happy one moment and then the next thing I know you're closed off, and I'm the one stuck waiting, or trying to pull you out of your funk. _That _is unfair. Don't you love me enough to just let me in and let me help you?"

She didn't even realize her blunder in word choice until the word was hovering above them.

Great, another thing to cause distance, just what she needed.

"Love?" he said, surprise lacing the word.

"Yes," she said, oddly calm, even though her heart was racing so fast that she could swear he'd see it from under her bathing suit. "Don't you love me?"

He swallowed. Did he? Of course he did. He'd taken her here of all places just to share it with her. She'd spent time with him, hung around him. He knew her better than anyone and he loved her. So why couldn't he admit it?

She scoffed, turning around to walk away when he grabbed her, spun her around, and kissed her.

They hadn't kissed like that in forever, and greedily she pulled him closer, tugging on his hair and pressing him harder to her body, trying in vain to keep him close for as long as she could.

When they broke the kiss, they were both breathless and their cheeks were painted red.

"I just want you to talk to me," she said once her breath was restored, "I don't think I'm asking too much."

"You're not," he admitted, and she raised an eyebrow. "It's just hard, I need time."

"I've given you time."

"Then I need more," he said, his voice ragged, seeing the truth in her words and he felt weak and pathetic.

She gave him a sad look, "I don't think I have any more to give you, Jake."

There was a sadness in her words that he never thought he'd hear. How long had he been hurting her like this? When did she get this beaten down by him?

"Jake," she said, touching his arm, but said nothing else.

He sat down on the shore beside her things, the crescent moon glowing against the lake, and the stars shimmering in the sky. He tried to gain his thoughts, and she sat beside him, waiting quietly like she had been for a long while.

He told her about his mother being sick and dying of cancer, though the story was choppy since he'd been five or six at the time. He told her about his dad losing it, and then leaving Jake alone to cope with it all alone. He told her about the cabin, and his mother scent, crying over faded memories. He told her things, though choppy and she had to ask questions to get more information from him, he'd told her enough that when he'd run out of words to say, she was leaning on his shoulder, her hand curled in his.

"I love you," she whispered, and she kissed his cheek.

Their eyes met, and before either knew it, they were making their way back to the cabin, and once the door was closed, he pinned her to it, kissing her hard. He carried her to the master bedroom where she was supposed to sleep and placed her on the bed and climbed on top of her, careful not to crush her with his weight.

He'd tugged off her shirt, kissing her chest soundly, reaching for the draw he was sure he'd put the condoms in the last time he was up here, and feeling himself harder with her gasps of pleasure.

He had wanted her for so long, that apart of him felt like this was all a dream. That he'd wake up sweaty and red with the memory of her still fresh in his mind. This would be better than a dream. He was sure of that.

He was kissing the spot under her ear when he slowly pushed in her, hearing her gasp in pain and cringe forward. He kissed her harder, trying to sooth her, and once she'd relaxed a little, he tried to be gentle and kissed her everywhere.

* * *

They lay together, her curled up against his chest and his chin resting on her head.

"Is it always like that?" she asked.

"Like what?" Though he was terrified of what she was exactly talking about.

"Tender," she said, breathing the word out as if she was awed by it all. "It hurt, well, hurts, but…" Unable to finish the sentence, she placed a soft kiss on his chest. "I love you, Jake Martin."

His heart soared and he grinned, kissing the top of her head. "I love you too. Now let's get some sleep."

But she'd already fallen asleep on him, and he wrapped her tighter to him, as if he were worried she'd run away on him. Leaning closer to her ear, he whispered it again and fell asleep.


	4. four

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.**

* * *

_I was just guessing at numbers and figures__, __pulling your puzzles apart.__  
__Questions of science, science and progress, do not speak as loud as my heart_

_-The Scientist, Coldplay_

"Have you ever wanted kids?" she asked.

They were a young couple, lying together in their dingy, rundown apartment. His arm was around her, and she had her head on his chest.

The question startled him. Jake had never been one to think of kids – unless he was preventing them, of course. He'd never considered being a parent, but her question scared him. What kind of father could he be? Not a very good one, considering his only example had ever been his own distant father.

"No," he said, his voice dripping with a hard edge.

She looked up at him and he knew immediately it was the answer she'd expected, but the answer she hadn't wanted to hear.

"Would you want to be?" she whispered, daring him to give her the answer she'd wanted.

He let the silence linger before letting out a long, drawn out sigh. "No," he admitted.

"Oh." She turned from him, attempting to get out of his hold, but he wouldn't let her.

"Imogen –" he began, but she cut him off.

"Why are we together then?" Her brown eyes were ablaze and her face was tight with anger. "We clearly want separate things. I want a family, and you want this," she said, tossing her hand between the two. "You want girlfriends, _maybe_, but all it ever can be is sex."

"Now that's not fair!" he spat at her, angry suddenly, and releasing her. He stood up, creating distance from her, and he saw how angry it made her and regretted it instantly.

"It's always _not fair_," she said, standing up on her side of the bed. "I want you, and I want a family _with you_, and you don't want that."

He heard the quiver in her voice and felt his heart thud hard in his chest. "I want you, Imogen, it's just –" he broke off the sentence, letting the words hover in the air, waiting for him to finish.

"Just what?" she pressed, moving closer to him, touching his arm softly, reminding him that it was okay. She was there with him.

There was a long moment of silence and he sighed, shaking his head and running a hand down his face. "I'm not good at that stuff, Im. The things a dad would need to be and everything. That's not me. I'm like my dad, and that isn't fair to you, let alone any kid we'd ever have."

Imogen dropped her gaze, feeling her lower lip quiver, but squaring her shoulders, she looked at him. "I'll admit it, you put a wall up, and it takes beating you to a pulp to get you to open up, but face it, Jake Martin, you're a softy. One look at a kid and it'd have you wrapped around its little finger for life. Don't even try and deny it. And you're affectionate. Sometimes overly affectionate," she teased, trying to lighten the mood, but the joke was clearly not a mood lightener from the look at his frown.

"I'd shut down on it," he said sadly. Admitting a defeat before any real battle had been fought, and it upset her slightly.

"Not with me around," Imogen declared. "I wouldn't let you."

He sighed and sat on the bed. "What if I fucked it up, like my dad did me?"

Imogen crawled beside him on the bed and took his face in her hands. "Now you listen to me, Jake Martin, and you listen good. You're not as messed up as you give yourself credit for. Now I admit you could be chattier, but that isn't _you. _I don't think you need to change, and you're wonderful because of who you are. Glenn probably didn't win any father of the year trophy, but you are the best person I know. I love you, and so would any addition to the two of us that may or may not happen."

He looked at her for a long, hard moment, and then he kissed her, lowering her down to the bed. "I love you," he murmured against her skin, and she ran her hand down his spine, murmuring that she loved him too.

* * *

Curled against each other, she kissed his knuckles, tangling her fingers in between his, and leaned into him.

"I love you," she breathed, resting her head onto his bicep.

"So I've heard," he said cheekily, earning himself a playful kick.

She laughed softly, tracing patterns with her free hand onto his arm.

"I like this. You and me," she clarified.

"I never had any doubts," he said, nestling himself down, his eyes feeling heavy.

"And I've been thinking," she said, blind to his sleepy state, "and I've been thinking about this a lot, okay."

"Hmm," he said, closing his eyes.

"Would you marry me?" she asked.

He laughed, "Sure, Immy," he said, snuggling up against her. Not hearing, or comprehending the sincerity in her words.

She turned to him. "I'm serious."

His eyes snapped open, and his cheeks felt warm. She was seriously asking him? Of course she was, he should have never expected to be the one asking her. She'd initiated their first kiss, their first date, even this. And he found himself smiling, feeling butterflies explode in his gut. She had thought about marrying him. She was asking. She _wanted_ to marry him.

"Yes," he said, causing her to smile, "yes, I would marry you."

Grinning, she released his hand and looped her arms around his neck, kissing him softly.

"Mrs. Jake Martin," Jake said, pondering over it. "Mrs. Imogen Martin… I like it."

Imogen rolled her eyes playfully, but gave a longing sigh. "Imogen Martin," she said, smiling as the name rolled easily off her tongue. "I like the flow of it," she said, curling back into it. "Thankfully you don't have an ugly last name."

He laughed, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to him. "Good night, future Imogen Martin," he said, causing her to giggle, and nudge his leg with her tiny foot.


	5. five

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.**

* * *

_Tell me you love me, come back and haunt me__, o__h and I rush to the start.__  
__Running in circles, chasing our tails__, c__oming back as we are__  
-The Scientist, Coldplay_

He had just talked to her. She had said she was catching a cab and would be home within the hour.

When an hour and a half had past, he'd begun to panic. Calling her cell, he kept on getting voicemail, and he'd left her several. First they started off in the panicky way where you pretend you're not panicked, and by the last one he'd been yelling and screaming at her.

Finally, his phone began to ring, and not even bother looking at the ID, he picked it up. "Imogen where –"

"Jake, it's Natalie," the hard voice of Imogen's mother cut him off and his brow furrowed. Jake hadn't seen or talk to Natalie since the few months' prior, back when Imogen's father had passed away. Why was she calling him now? His heart began to pound, his throat drying up instantly in the telltale sign of bad news.

"There has been an accident, and they just informed me… She's been in the ER for a few hours." Jake felt his heart stop, and he was lucky he'd been sitting, because he knew he'd have fallen from the weight of that sentence. "Jake… she's not doing well."

"What do you mean?" he asked his voice hoarse and distant.

"Jake," was all she say, and whether it was all she could manage or all she knew to say to him he didn't know.

"I'm on my way," he said, hanging up and grabbing his keys.

* * *

He'd argued and screamed at the person at the front desk, demanding to be let back in to see her, getting the same sentence, "Someone will be with you if something happens, sir".

Didn't they understand? He couldn't wait out here. No matter what, he couldn't sit out here waiting.

"She's my fucking fiancée and she's been in an accident! There isn't any waiting! They said she was in bad condition."

And the sentence was repeated to him, this time in an angry tone. Jake wished this receptionist wasn't a woman, because it took all he had in him to not

Suddenly, Natalie rounds the corner, talking curtly to the receptionist, she lets Jake in, leading him to Imogen.

* * *

She was surrounded by machines, and the walls are cold white. There is a sterile sent in the air and the sound of beeping.

There is a breathing tube in her mouth, and she looks exactly like someone hit by a drunk driver should be.

He feels sick, and he's holding her hand, whispering to her, begging her to open her eyes.

She keeps convulsing. Like she's having a seizure, or trying hard to sit up. When she does this, her heart rate plummets, and he's shoved to the side by people giving her medicine and shouting.

This has been happening since he's gotten there, and they tell him she was nearly gone when they pulled her from the wreck, but somehow managed to bring her back.

When they stabilize her again, Natalie comes in, touching his arm. "Jake," there is a sadness in her voice and it chills him. "There is nothing more they can do for her."

He feels his heart sink, and tears fill his eyes, "What they –"

"She didn't have oxygen for a long time when they pulled her back. She's alive, but…" Natalie paused, regaining herself, unable to look at her daughter. "I can't have her go on like this…"

"No," Jake shouts, turning to his soon-to-be mother-in-law, "there has to be something else."

Natalie shook her head, and the look in her eyes kills him. She's trying not to cry, she's trying to be strong because it is her job. She needs to explain this to him, and she can't. She's not the doctor right now, she's a mother. A mother about to lose the only child she's ever had.

"I signed the papers," Natalie said, "it is enough."

"No!" That's all that Jake can get out, looking down at Imogen. Her chest is still rising and falling, her heart is still beating. She's in there. He knows she is.

Or so he wants to believe.

He needs to believe it.

She wouldn't leave. Not when they were going to get married. Not when they'd talked about having kids and a dog and a house with a yard and a porch with a swing.

She wouldn't leave him.

But she had. This wasn't Imogen hooked up to tubes and machines. She'd kill him. Give him the look she reserved only for him, cross her arms over her chest and snap something at him.

Natalie was crying as she kissed Imogen's cheek. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, and then she looked at Jake, touched his arm and said, "I'm sorry, I just," but she stopped and with a choked sob she left.

* * *

She died at 2:08, and he swore he did too.

Her eyes were closed and it looked like she was sleeping, waiting for him to crawl into the hospital bed with her.

He sat there for as long as they let him, unable to leave her here in the sterile white room.

Eventually, he has to leave and somehow he finds his way home, and he doesn't sleep. Not really.

How long has it been since he'd slept alone?

Lived alone?

But somehow, he must have found sleep, though when he opens his eyes to an unwelcomed sunny day he feels groggy.

It was early, and he knows he's late for work, but he doesn't have it in him to talk to Glenn or anyone else.

He is alone, and he wants it to remain that way.

* * *

His dream is foggy, but when he wakes, he knows he dreamt of her. He reaches over, forgetting, and finds her spot cold and untouched. At first, he thinks it is her normal routine when she wakes up before him, but then reality hits him. Her side is unmade, because she isn't here to sleep in it.

His heart clenches and he feels himself shatter.

How can she be gone?

He can still hear her voice, her laughter. It's all there inside him, and he doesn't want her to be gone. She isn't gone.

He closes his eyes, trying to get the pain inside him to stop. It's almost physically painful to feel her absence.

* * *

"_Stop," she says, laughing and trying to get out of his grasp as he tickles her._

_They'd just finished moving in and they had set up their bed, though he did most of the labor. They officially had a place that was theirs._

_Not his apartment. Not her dorm room. _

_Theirs._

"_Make me," he whispers in her ear._

_She flips them over, and he lets her. She straddles him and grins down at him, bending down to kiss him._

"_I love you," she says, tracing his face with her fingers, and he cups her face, bringing her back down to him._

* * *

"_You don't have to get me a ring," she says._

"_But I want too," he replies, digging his spoon into his bowl, stirring his cereal._

"_You're not mad, right?" she asks him softly._

"_About?" he asks._

"_I heard Mo, Jake… I stole your thunder."_

_Jake looks up and seeing the sad look on her face, he moves over to her, "No you didn't." He took her hand, caressing it with his thumb. "You didn't steal anything. If I ever thought I'd be the one asking, I was stupid. I could never be mad about it."_

_She smiles at him, tears filling in her eyes. "We're getting married," she says, as if it finally hit her. _

_He nods, kissing her. "Mrs. Imogen Martin," he says, scooping her into his arms and carrying her into the bedroom._

* * *

_They were lying under the stars at his cabin, laughing, telling stories, teasing each other._

_A fire was crackling, and previously they had made s'mores. _

"_Are you excited," she asked, rolling towards him and scooting closer to him for warmth._

_He enveloped her in his arms and rested his chin on her head. "Yeah," he said, though his voice said otherwise._

"_What's wrong?" she asked him, her hands tracing down him chest._

"_Nothing, why?" he asked, kissing the top of her head._

"_Jake."_

_He sighed. "Fine, I just – graduation is this week, and then you leave and I'm staying. I wish there was more time."_

_She was quiet, and then she held him close. "Nothing is going to change between us, right?"_

"_I hope not, Im." He kissed the top of her head again._

"_I'm going to miss you," and with the hitch in her voice he knew she was crying, and he hugged her, trying to comfort her._

"_I could stay," she offered, "I don't –"_

_He held her at arm's length to look into her eyes. "You have to go, Imogen. It's your dream. You got in! How can I let you throw it away?"_

_She looked at him, her brown eyes wide and red-rimmed and her chin quivered. "It's not a dream if you're not there with me."_

_His heart pounded, and in that moment, he threw caution to the wind. "What if I go with you?" he asked. "I can get work anywhere, and I have money saved up, I could get an apartment and –" She silenced him with a kiss._

* * *

He was like a zombie. He was functioning, he was moving, but he couldn't remember anything that was going on. All he could do was breath and move. People had come by, brought him food, made coffee, talked – or tried to. It wasn't until Clare came and made him go home that he fought. But even that was halfhearted.

In the end, he found himself at his old home, Helen dotting him, and his dad sitting beside him in silence, with Clare on the chair quietly crying to herself.

* * *

He'd remembered hating his dad for shutting down on him. He hadn't understood what it was like to lose something that was so apart of whom you were that it hurt. He had lost his heart, his soul, his air. He'd lost her.

_"But you're not him, Jake. You're not your dad."_

He couldn't go on without her, and it proved him that she had been wrong, he was like his dad.

* * *

It's been four days and he still hasn't cried. He knows people are worrying about that, but he doesn't care. He doesn't have any tears, any feelings. He's just a hollow shell.

But four days later he's in a tux, his tie tied, his shoes polished, and he's in front of a church.

A church, he mentally scoffs.

He knows it's all Natalie's doing and a rage burns dully in his chest.

Inside, there are white and yellow daisies, and he knows Imogen would have preferred more color.

Everyone there is in black. People he doesn't know, people he should know, and people he once knew distantly from another time.

They're all crying and they're all wearing black.

"Come on," Clare says, taking his hand, "let's sit down."

Then he sees it. Or really, _him_, and the fire inside him explodes like a match to an oil ridge.

Eli Goldsworthy is talking to someone, dressed in black, crying.

He and Clare had broken up, and he and Imogen had barely talked since grade eleven when he'd broken her.

He'd broken her, and he'd broken his sister, and he's here mourning _her. _

Clare tells him to calm down, holding him back, though it's futile.

Jake walks over to Eli, and if Eli notices the anger he's foolish to think it's not directed at him.

"Jake," Eli says, and it sounds as if he's surprised he's here. "I'm sorry about Imogen, I –"

"Shut up," Jake snaps, and it's the first time in four days since he's felt something, and it is pure hatred for the little twerp standing before him.

He's watched him break Imogen, he'd watch him break Clare over and over again, and now he's here like a welcome guest.

Eli is taken aback, "Jake, I –"

"I said to shut up!" Jake seethed, and before anything else could happen a girl stepped between him, shoving him away.

"Jake," she snaps, and it's like he was woken up from a dream.

He see's everyone staring at him, and he turns to the girl and he recognizes her as one of Clare's friends. Katie Matlin, ex-student council president. He'd seen her a few times over the years, and she'd been friendly with Imogen, but he knows she's here to support Clare if anything.

He shakes his head, turning away from Eli, realizing he needs air.

He rushes past his family and heads down the steps of the church to the sidewalk, his face in his hands.

He shouldn't of done that.

He let himself get riled up and he'd ruined everything. Not that it was anything that wasn't already ruined.

He feels sick. He should have helped. He should have made it more Imogen to honor her.

He takes in a shaky breath and he realizes he's crying. And not only is he crying, he's on his knees sobbing.

"Jake," a voice whispers, and for a moment he thinks it's her. That somehow she's here talking to him, but when he turns his head, he sees its Katie.

Her arms envelop him, and he freezes, but falls into her embrace, crying on her shoulder, not even caring. He can't stop crying for her, for him. He's alone, and she's stole everything and left him bare.

"I can't do it," he croaks, feeling pathetic as he gets to his feet.

Katie rubs his shoulder, looking at him. "It's not going to be easy, but you will."

He scoffs.

"Jake," Katie says, grabbing him as he turns to leave, "it's not over because she's gone."

"Fuck you," Jake snarls, "you have no idea what it's like to lose her. She was everything to me and she's gone."

"You're not the only one who lost her!"

"You certainly didn't lose her. You didn't even know her."

"No! But there are people who showed up today that lost her, and she mattered. She wouldn't want you to be out here grieving by yourself."

"Then that would mean she wouldn't have known me at all," he snapped.

Katie's face is blank, and she shrugs, "Fine," she says, but she makes no move to leave.

They sit on the steps of the church and are surprised once it's over and the sun is high in the sky.

* * *

It's been twenty-one days, forty-six mintues, and twelve seconds since she is gone, and things have changed. The sheets have been washed because both Katie and Clare insisted. Katie comes over with Clare daily to check on him. Mo hasn't made jokes as often when he's over. Her scent is fading in the pillows. He's getting a promotion at work.

And twenty-one days, forty-six minutes, and twelve seconds later he's still at a loss without her.

He wakes up, feeling for her in the blankets, wanting to pull him close to him. He hears her footsteps sometimes in the house. He can hear her laughter when he does something stupid. He can see her smile when he closes his eyes.

But in those twenty-one days, forty-six minutes, and twelve seconds he can feel the wound closing. It's slow, and sometimes it feels like it hasn't, and he knows if it does it'll be there like a scar. Her absence is a part of him, and always will. He can feel her there, guiding him, laughing at him, mocking him. And he smiles when he feels her.

He realizes he isn't his father. That he was better than him, and he has Katie, Mo, and Clare to thank for that.

He closes his eyes, placing the flowers on her grave. She is a part of him, and he's a part of her.

* * *

"_I love you," he whispered, kissing down her neck._

"_Do you?" she questioned playfully, "How much?"_

"_More than you love me," he teased back._

_She hummed, "Impossible," she said._

"_Very possible," he said._

"_Do you think we'll be together forever?" she asked him, looking up at him with big innocent eyes._

_He froze for a minute. He'd never thought of forever, and the thought scared him, but he looked at her and he knew it was different. He'd never loved anyone before her, and he couldn't imagine anyone after her._

_Slowly, he nodded. "Yes," he said hoarsely. "I think we will be."_

_And she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him._

* * *

**Author's Note: **That is really the end. I'm sorry to everyone who thought this was going to be a happy story, but really, what is happy? I was inspired by _Fly Away_ by Kristin Hannah, because there is this part where you can see one of the main protagonist of the book and Jake reacting the same way to the love of their life's death. I hope you enjoyed, and don't hate me. Love you all.


End file.
